A blog that has nothing whatsoever to do with any real life Bishop - nor Broadcasting Service. The entirely fictional - not to mention one inch tall - Bishop of Ludlow is the leader of an Anglican League Expeditionary Force within an "alternative 1938" wargame campaign set in the County of Herefordshire. This blog constitutes his ecclesiastical testimony of the whole conflict, as contemporaneously broadcast throughout the County during the "Very British Civil War".

A wild-eyed Captain Arrowsmith
stared at him with contempt. “We had the Bishop this morning! The Bishop - on
the hip - at last! The Ludlow Expeditionary Force, isolated and alone, without their
promised Socialist allies [unfortunately,
the planned Socialist player had to pull out of the Big Game at the last
moment]. Scratch forces on each of his flanks, without tanks or heavy
weaponry - a shambling crowd of Hereford Mommets on the right, and Lady Rita’s unblooded
novices on the left! The Wye at its lowest in living memory, easily fordable
along its length! And yet, and yet….still you FAIL ME!”

“I say, just a moment now….” said
Strait-Jackett.

The Battleground at Bredwardine Fords [with bridge], and a familiar advance : Arrowsmith in the centre with the Behemoth in the lead, Storm Leader Giles to the right, Captain Strait-Jackett to the left.

“FOOLS!”Arrowsmith
screamed. Storm Leader Giles, standing rigidly to attention while trying to
shake the last “Exterminate!” marker from his over-sized epaulettes, now
disappeared beneath a shower of black hearted spittle.

“You…” Arrowsmith’s gloved
forefinger stabbed derisively at Captain Strait-Jackett’s chest. “You! Bringing
the Cheltenham Ladies College to a battle! Royalists! Is that the best De
Braose, your so-called Lord of the Marches, can do? Advancing across the Wye - straight
into Lady Rita’s concealed firing line! Cowering in a copse with casualties all
around you! Reduced to waving hockey sticks at the enemy!”

“I say, I mean, weally…..” said
Strait-Jackett.

The end of the battle for Captain Strait-Jackett's Royalists - decimated by the gallant Lady Rita's firing line.

Cheltenham Ladies College Hockey Team in happier times - on a goodwill tour of Canada at the start of the VBCW

“And you!” Arrowsmith turned on
his heel contemptuously, gloved forefinger shifting target. “Storm Leader? Advancing
like a geriatric snail, more like, not an overwhelming storm! An entire section
wiped out by those damned scarecrows - before your tank got into action at all!”
[Giles had rolled a “1” at an early
moment, and bogged down, causing a ripple effect on his carefully dressed
infantry line. An advanced section had been decimated by Anglican fire.]

“I say, I weally must insist”.
Strait-Jackett’s slight lisp betrayed his tension. “It’s not our fault, you
wuff fascist fellah-me-lad, it really isn’t. The Cheltenham ladies were just
part of my force - and truly, I can’t help it if the Gas Street Irregulars stop
orff for a bit of casual looting, I weally jolly well can’t. [Alan had also rolled low at an early stage]. And that Lady
Rita’s a truly gallant filly, don’tcha know?But that’s not the trouble now, is it?” Strait-Jackett was finally hitting
his stride. “Point is, the County’s agin us of late, all that stuff about
Davros and “Dar-leks”. Lady Rita and the Mommets might not have risen to assist
the Bishop, otherwise [see note 1 below].
You’d have had him then, three to one. And I might not have been there last
time - but who let the Dar-leks out, hmmm, hmmm?”

The Leader of the Mommets advances to the aid of the Bishop. The day was to prove
that Herefordshire Mommetry was not to be trifled with.

“Oh, I know what you say.”
Arrowsmith’s rage had turned to icy contempt. “I know what all you damned Royalists
say about me, behind my back. The sniggers, the carping, the criticisms. The
“he’s going like Foy, just you wait” whispers. The “not even a Grammar School
boy” stuff. I’ve heard them all, believe
me.”

“Professor Schwartzmangler’s Awwowsmith-Syndrome?”

“Never mention that name to me!
Never!”

“Staff Captain Gallop does, often
enough. 9pm sharp, after every evening news broadcast. He reads out the whole
of Schwartzmangler’s stuff, even interviews him, on the Bishop’s Broadcasting
Service…”

“A banned organisation! Traitors!
Subversives! And I told you never to mention that name!”

“Of course he’s wrong, Snail
Leader!” sneered Arrowsmith. “I don’t need you to tell me he’s wrong!
Regulations strictly forbid it! Anyone found listening to the Bishop’s
Broadcasting Service will pay for it with their lives! We’ve already shot every
patient in the Leominster Village Hospital because Matron made the mistake of
tuning out the Home Service! The blind, the halt, the lame - and for good
measure, the deaf!”

“Not about that, sir. About the
battle.” Giles floundered on nervously, greatly daring. “See, it was the
Behemoth wot done it, sir, not us. The Behemoth wot done us in. And not them
cannon and multiple machine guns and heavy armour an’ all…it was the crew. Your
mailed fist - shattered. Shattered at the very moment we needed it the most.”
Giles trailed off, losing courage. “Anyway, that’s wot happened, sir.”

The Behemoth in the early stages of the Battle of Bredwardine Fords. Big gun, multiple machine guns, heavy armour, and the morale of the crew is high - so far.

Arrowsmith reeled back, tortured not only by the estuary tones of Giles’ whining vowels, but by the stunning truth of
his revelation. The Behemoth! His one true love! Sat atop it’s customary
position on the crest of Bredwardine Bridge [in
fact, it was supposed to be a ford, but we re-used the bridge model] stolidlywithstanding everything the Anglican
R-35, the Anglican MMG and Lady Rita’s mortar could throw at it, seeing off Staff
Captain Cruft’s multiple bomb dog attacks [some
outstandingly lucky BUF cards and dice, as will shortly be revealed],
advancing unscathed through multiple road side bombs [more lucky dice, grr….], only for the crew finally to crack
beneath that hail of infantry fire! His Behemoth, hurt and confused, retreating
in a panic! The Great Arrowsmith - betrayed by his own Behemoth! There must be
revenge!

“You’re right, Snail Leader!”
snarled Arrowsmith, smashing fist to palm. “Just this once, you’re right! And now I’m
going to do something about it. Show you all that that there is a penalty for
failure! A firing squad! Two firing squads! No, wait…engineer! Assemble a
technical squad! Immediately!”

******

“A curious day, Duff.” The Bishop
sniffed. “Sweaty cassock time, this morning, I’m not ashamed to say it. A
no-show from those socialists, and Lord Reith’s mysterious Scientific Adviser
having nothing to do in the absence of the anticipated Dar-leks. But near
victory by lunch, and then….well, we’d better visit the advanced platoon before
dusk turns to night. Apparently it can do so quite suddenly round here, you
know. A stroll to the ford?”

“Indeed, sir. But at least that
Scientific Adviser had a word with Professor Lindemann before he left.
Lindemann seems very pleased with what he learned.” The Rev Duff-Postin
shouldered the Ludlow Great Standard. “I’ll gather up Commandant Lasalle from
the Command Car. He’ll want to see the troops, make sure the sentries are
posted.”

The LEF early in the battle - RNVR Rocket Batteries in the centre, Ludlow Scottish MMG following up, Lt. Pidgeon's R-35 on the right flank. On the left flank, just visible, is Lord Reith's Scientific Adviser (and transport) watching out for the return of any BUF "Dar-leks" and any consequent infringement of the BBC's copyrights.

Shortly thereafter, the three
fell into automatic step along the tarmac approach to the ford [bridge]. “Well, we didn’t quite make the
breakthrough, chaps.” said the Bishop. “Couldn’t really expect to, in all the
circumstances. Sir Gilbert will have to do without us for just a little longer.
But we did more than survive…” [see note
(2) below]

“Certainement, mon ami”.
Commandant Lasalle, a graduate of St. Cyr, stiffened suddenly, eyes righting
and snapping into a brisk salute. “For the most part, certainement.”

The party was abreast of a
burning R-35, the body of its gallant commander, Lieutenant “Cadgze” Pidgeon,
laid out respectfully alongside. Pidgeon, the conqueror of the Malvern Hill
Conservator’s Quadricycle of Doom and all-round hero of the earlier Battle of
Bredwardine Bridge, had bravely traded blows with the Behemoth for hours - an
unequal struggle - only to be felled by a treacherous flank shot, late in the
day, from Storm Leader Giles’ slowly advancing armour (a Vickers Medium Mk.1).

The loss of the brave Lt. "Cadgze" Pidgeon His R-35 disappears in a fireball.

“La Legion meurt mais ne se rend
pas.” whispered Lasalle, as Postin lowered the Great Standard respectfully. The
Bishop murmured a heartfelt prayer. Of all the elements that had contributed to
the Anglican defence - the rockets, the gallantry of Lady Rita in her first
battle, the straight shooting and sheer bloody mindedness of the Mommets, the
usual staunchness of the Loyal Ludlow infantry and the busy machine gun of the
Ludlow Scottish - the valiant actions of Pidgeon and his Renault R-35 had
proved crucial.

“You better watch this bit, sir.”
counselled Postin. But a few yards on, and the bloodied bodies of Staff Captain
Cruft’s carefully trained bomb dogs littered the roadway. “Arrowsmith truly
rode his luck with this lot.”

“Nom d’un chien.” murmured
Commandant Lasalle.

[The height of the battle, around lunchtime. The Behemoth, suppressed
by furious Anglican fire, mute and helpless on the bridge. The Bishop had sent
in the Anglican secret weapon, a party of bomb dogs trained by Staff Captain
Cruft since the Battle of Bredwardine Bridge for precisely this eventuality -
confident that the Behemoth would fail its “suppressed” recovery roll, and in
any event, holding an ace, the Bishop would move first in the succeeding turn.
The dogs would crash into and destroy the Behemoth before it could even fire,
and the waiting LEF infantry could rush and hold the ford (bridge) for an
unlikely victory against the odds. But a delighted Arrowsmith had rolled high
on his recovery roll, then pulled an unexpected Joker from his own hand to take
his turn first, fired all of his many machine guns with extraordinarily high dice,
and a canine massacre had resulted. With it went the Anglican’s hopes of a
decisive breakthrough at Bredwardine.]

Send on the exploding dogs! The LEF Secret Weapon is revealed as Staff Captain Cruft's finest take on the Behemoth. It is but moments before the massacre.....

“Such a cur, that Arrowsmith”
said the Bishop. “Machine-gunning a pack of dogs….Staff Captain Cruft will be
inconsolable.”

“Volunteers, every last one of
them, sir.” Postin commiserated. “Turned out of their homes and lost by their
owners in the refugee crisis. Knew the Fascists only have use for Alsatians and
Dobermanns, rather than true British breeds. You should have seen those paws
shoot up in the air when the Staff Captain gave them a chance for a special
mission. Tongues were hanging out at the prospect, I tell you. Now careful
here….”

The roadway was smashed and bent
at crazy angles on both sides - the residue of Lady Rita’s double roadside
bombs exploding each side of the Behemoth as, wildly confident after the dog
massacre, it had sought to advance beyond the ford [bridge].

“Extraordinary” said the Bishop.
“To survive the bomb dogs, and then this. The Behemoth was leading a charmed
life, alright.”

“Until the crew cracked, sir.
There’s only so much even a veteran Fascist can take.” [Numerous “Jumpy” and “Suppressed” markers had appeared on the Behemoth
during the course of the day, only to be successfully reduced on the BUF
Recovery Phase - but by the end the Behemoth was reversing under not just a
“Jumpy” marker, but also a “Suppressed”, “Running Away” and then (this had never
happened before) a “Double Running Away” marker. Chased by continuing fire, the
Behemoth had no hope of recovery before the end of the Big Game.]

A Loyal Ludlow legionary appeared
out of the rolling smoke at the end of the Bridge [or ford. By the end of the Big Game, the First Section of the Legion
was holding onto one end of the ford, with BUF infantry on the other, the stilled
and terrified Behemoth between the warring factions as the Fascists first threw
grenades, and the Anglicans prepared to return in kind]

The End of the Behemoth - beached and broken on the Bridge [ford]. The 1st Section of the LEF hold one side, BUF infantry hold the other. There is to be a fierce but inconclusive exchange of grenades, but the battle is drawn.

The command party peered through
the smoke and fog of war, dimly discerning the outline of Arrowsmith’s gilt
braided command cap and black leather coat. With the small arms rattle and
explosions of battle dying away, all that could be heard was the screaming and
gibbering of the crew within the Behemoth.

“What the devil’s he up to now,
sir?” puzzled Postin, as an unearthly blue light reflected through the smoke,
illuminating a crouching Arrowsmith and a party of engineers atop the huge tank.
“Oxy-acetylene torches? Cutting them out through that infamous heavy armour?”

“Mon Dieu.” breathed Commandant
Lasalle. “Un diable, c’est sur.”

“He’s not cutting them out,
Postin.” the Bishop whispered, as realisation slowly dawned. “There’s a penalty
for failure, remember? [see note (3)
below] He’s concentrating on the hatches. He’s not cutting them out at all.
It’s an iron coffin. He’s sealing them in.”

The Bishop raised his Crozier of
Solomon solemnly, incanting a prayer for the condemned crew.

Atop the Behemoth and mistaking
the gesture, Arrowsmith rose abruptly from his crouch, snapping into his
customary stiff armed, gloved salute.

“We shall meet again, Bishop”
growled Arrowsmith to himself, amidst the now muffled crewmen’s screams. “We
shall most surely meet again.” His gold rimmed spectacles glowed with reflected
fanaticism. “And next time, next time, I promise you, Bishop…next time, there WILL BE NO WEAKNESS!”

(1). The historic origins of the
Herefordshire Mommet movement are to be found here. The alliance between
Arrowsmith and Davros was assuredly an event likely to rouse Herefordians
against the BUF generally and Arrowsmith in particular, not to mention incur
the ire of Lord Reith of the BBC. It may be that, upon the redundant BBC
Scientific Adviser reporting back to Bush House after the Battle of Bredwardine
Fords, Lord Reith will consider that Arrowsmith has been insufficiently punished for his earlier breach of BBC copyrights. For the origins of Arrowsmith's alliance with Davros, see the "Battle of Bredwardine Bridge" broadcast below.

(2). Attentive listeners to the
Bishop’s Broadcasting Service will recall that the Anglicans have been seeking
to cross the River Wye at Bredwardine in order to link up with Sir Gilbert
Hill’s Golden Valley Invincibles and thereby cut off a large part of South
Herefordshire from Royalist/BUF influence. After the Bishop’s bloody draws with
the forces of Arrowsmith and his running dogs, first at Bredwardine Bridge and
then at the Fords of Bredwardine, Sir Gilbert (who was himself fighting running
battles in Dorstone on this day) and the Anglican C-in-C (moustaches somewhat
singed, having had his T-26 shot out from beneath him at Kinnersley) may be
forced into a strategic re-think. Or each may re-double their efforts to cross
the Wye, perhaps elsewhere, or with better equipment. Only time will tell….

(3). Similarly attentive
listeners may wonder how the Bishop and Postin knew the exact words earlier used by Arrowsmith within his ultra-secure
“Robin’s Nest” command post. Storm Leader Giles’ blind loyalty is unquestioned,
but what of the Royalist Captain Strait-Jackett, so maltreated by Arrowsmith?
Or is it possible, perchance, that the Bishop’s famed Ecclesiastical
Intelligence Service have successfully placed a deep penetration agent within
BUF HQ?

(4). Miscellaneous Weaponry and
Casualty Returns - The RNVR Rocket Troop had a more successful day at
Bredwardine Fords. Having failed miserably at the Battle of Bredwardine Bridge
(2 infantry casualties), the Rocket Troop made a satisfactory return at
Bredwardine Fords (7 infantry casualties), albeit, widely scattered as the
casualties were, this was nowhere close to being decisive. Otherwise, the LEF
suffered surprisingly few casualties itself - a few from First Section of the
Loyals, as they advanced under MMG fire towards the ford (ok, bridge) in the
late afternoon, a few from Second Section earlier in the morning. On the very
last move, however, as the firing died away elsewhere in the knowledge of a
certain draw, the entirety of the RNVR Rocket Troop crews (acting as a pistol
armed infantry reserve after the firing of their rockets) were lost to a
spiteful long range MMG massacre by an enraged Storm Leader Giles. These, and
the destruction of “Cadgze” Pigeon’s R-35, were the principal Ludlow losses of
the day. There is now an urgent need for a replacement for the lost R-35 - an application is being made to France’s “Lend Lease to Ludlow” programme.
The Bishop’s 75mm gun, finally re-bored (see the notes to the Battle of
Eardisley broadcast, below) may also have to make an appearance at the next encounter, as
the RNVR recruit and re-train new rocketeers….